Easy Mistakes
by bondagechic
Summary: Harry explores Draco through the five senses. R/R please! :) Chapter Four is NOT the new chapter--it's an author's note. Please read.
1. Sight

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Easy Mistakes

Author: bondagechic

Chapter 1: Sight

Part 1/5

Summary: Harry explores Draco through the five senses.

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Sight

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I can taste you on my lips

And smell you in my clothes.

Cinnamon and sugary and softly spoken lies.

You never know just how you look

Through other people's eyes.

--Butthole Surfers

HARRY'S POV

It's one of those nights where a person could honestly believe there never was and never would be a night as beautiful as this one. A shaft of full-moonlight falls coldly through the leaded-glass window and casts dark lines like bars, disrupting the easy illumination. The light is broken anyhow, tripping over the bedside table, falling onto the floor and finally jumping to the end of the bed. The sheets and bedspread are disarrayed, only partially covering our two bodies. Your foot glows an oddly soft, fuzzy white where the winter moon shines on it. That's how your skin is—soft, fuzzy in some places. Your stomach and face, legs and arms. I study you for a long minute, or maybe it is more. I concentrate on the curve of your cheeks, the sharp tip of your nose, delicate arch of light eyebrows, the dark fringe your eyelashes cast on your cheekbones, the thin lips that pout even in sleep. Some might say you look like an angel in this light; your silver, fine hair falling about your face in a shattered halo—I know better.

It's an easy mistake to make until your eyes open. Hostility, coldness and arrogance all in one cobalt gaze. A flash of fury every once in a while, then quickly chased into shining, onyx pupils; hidden away. Your limbs that right now are languidly sprawling, covering as much space as possible, blurred in fast and hard motion as slap and punch land in places tender and vulnerable. Your mouth, now in a slight smile, becomes hard and spits insults and stinging comebacks. If they saw you as I see you, they would not make this mistake.

Nights like these, I stay awake, observing and absorbing the calm after the storm. It's so still and _this_ is how I love you.

Next chapter: Touch


	2. Touch

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Easy Mistakes

Author: bondagechic

Chapter 2: Touch

Part 2/5

Summary: Harry explores Draco through the five senses.

Disclaimers: Don't own anything, but am thanking JKR for letting me play…

Warning: contains hints of slash…and possibly more than hints in the future.

A/N: Review if ya want, I would greatly appreciate any advice, and it might even motivate me to write more (if you like it, that is). Flames? Eh…I couldn't care less—do what ya want. For those who reviewed last chapter thanks and read the notes at the bottom!

TOUCH

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"My hands will adore you through all darkness aim,

They will lay you out in moonlight

And reinvent your name,

For I am wanting you,

And I am needing you here,

I need you near,

Inside the absence of fear."

--Jewel, Absence of Fear

As the morning light starts to lighten the sky and room, I pull the heavy curtains around my bed closed, sealing Draco and me in a second, moonless night. It's so dark, that for a second I feel as if I'm blind or that I've closed my eyes without noticing. I wait, a little anxiousness tugging in my chest, while my eyes adjust to the darkness. I've never liked the dark; it feels too close, as if I'm crammed back up in the cupboard under the stairs. A part of it might be that I've always trusted my sight more than my sense of touch. 

I pull my knees to my chest in memory, scared to reach out or move for fear of meeting some strange presence with my searching hands. I sit as still as I can, careful not to disturb Draco's slumber. He hasn't moved from his sprawled position on his stomach, and his breaths are steady and slow. After a few more moments, my eyes begin to "see" again, though my vision is blurry and everything is in a slightly subtle chiaroscuro light, whether from lack of sleep or insufficient light—I can't be bothered to be sure.

Now that I can see the figure of Draco, I reach out a tentative hand, leaning forward against my knees and the slightest bit to the side. My hand hovers above his silky hair, almost touching—but I pull a little away, hesitating. I don't want to wake my false angel and face a hard, questioning gaze. Deciding that to touch him softly while he lies in his state of innocent sleep is worth the possible consequences, I reach out once again. Still not touching, I move my hand in close proximity down from his head to the back of his neck and over one of his shoulders to his elbow. I can feel my eyes wide open and realize I've been holding my breath, and my lungs are burning. Letting a slow, silent breath out, my hand continues its hovering trek, crossing the void between his elbow to the side of his back, a little below the shoulder blades and then down his bare spine. 

At the base of his back, I still my hand and slowly, deliberately close my eyes. I can feel the air move between his bare skin and my palm—there's a soft tingle and I sigh, staying in this moment for just a little longer. Lowering my hand slowly, so slowly, that I'm not even sure if I'm actually moving, the tingle increases to almost an outright electric current. Finally, the relief of skin on skin. His skin is cool under my warm, dry palm. I leave my hand in this spot for some time, feeling his skin become warm under mine, and moving my fingers only slightly to see if this small movement will wake him. I have a feeling that 76 trombones could be blaring "God Save the Queen" and he wouldn't wake, but if I were to so much as breathe too hard on him, he would wake up and punish me for my indulgence and give me a Heero Yuy death glare. 

Possessing a kind of smoothness, his skin feels nearly perfect. I decide to take yet another chance and slide my hand slowly over and down to his waist. It's softer here and the flesh is not as firm. When he is in motion, this part of him usually feels solid and undulating as his muscles tense and stretch with his every stride or turn of the torso. I give a tiny squeeze and have to stop myself from laughing in pleasure. Instead, I give out a short burst of breath and smile. A feeling of possessiveness comes over me and I feel myself craving more of this divine and sinful feeling. A little less hesitant now, I slide my hand up his side and cut across his wide shoulders and back track to rest for a moment between his shoulder blades. His skin here is smoother than the rest has been; covered in soft fuzz and protected from the rubbing of clothes by his shoulder blades. It is slightly warmer here and for the first time on my hand's journey, it gains warmth from this cove. My hand is flat, and I assert a slight amount of even pressure. I can feel the rise and fall of his breathing and the tremble his heart beat send through his chest. 

I open my eyes slowly and watch as my hand moves with his breathing and notice that our breathing is in sync. I get an odd feeling of reassurance in my stomach and I relax the rest of my body a bit more, sliding my legs out towards the end of the bed. I simultaneously slide smoothly down to be within better reach—the morning sun is starting to invade the room more thoroughly, and I feel disappointed that the rest of this journey has to be a bit more rushed and cursory. Moving my hand up to the base of his neck, I turn on my side, propping my head up with my free hand. The tips of my fingers gently play with the ends of his hair. My mind flashes back to sitting on the lawn of Hogwarts, where I liked to brush my hand over the tips of the soft, new grass, the cool spring wind rushing between my palm and the earth.

Bringing my mind back to the present, my fingers have stopped moving and are now tangled in the silkiness of his hair. Hungry for a bit more contact, I move my hips so that they are even with the side of his and put a foot gently onto his calf. But it's not enough—I slide my leg over his and entwine it endearingly. He moves a bit at this and grunts. I freeze, hoping that I have not woken him. I remain motionless, even holding my breath for a bit until I am sure he is not awake. In his movement, he has moved closer to me and now his leg is pressed between my knees and ankles. 

He's so relaxed. There couldn't be a tense muscle in his body right now. It's hard to believe that Draco could ever relax. Sure, he strides around easily, gracefully even, during the day, but underneath all that calm, his muscles are always in taut control—purposefully making his movements smooth. But now, he's off his guard, and his muscles don't even react to being touched. Sometimes, when he's drifting off to sleep I can feel his muscles one by one relax. It's like seeing ice melting, crumbling into water. He's always so smooth and cool, even when he's sleeping.

For a moment, I am conscious of how rough my hands must feel on his skin. The calluses hardened on my palms and fingers from manual labor at the Dursley's in the summer and Quidditch during the school year. I don't like the thought of feeling rough to Draco's smooth, but what bothers me more is the idea that I could be unable to completely feel him truthfully, the way he really is, through such hardened and thick skin. I can feel my mouth pull into a slight frown. I feel a bit disappointed that I might never truly feel Draco with my own hands.

I slide my hand back down his spine and let my arm lay possessively around his waist. I could never have enough time to explore him, but I am satiated now and I nestle my forehead into his side and then rest it below his shoulder blade.

This—this is the final great sensation; my head moving with every breath, feeling every heartbeat through my ear, unhearing, my cheek against warm, powdery skin, feeling his downy, delicate and solid leg between mine, my hand resting on the ribs of his side, my body flush with his, exchanging warmth.

Next chapter: Sound

A/N: TO MY REVIEWERS

The Princess Bard: I was so happy to see a review from you! I noticed you have a new fic up, I'm going to check it out soon!

In-a-crushd-tin-box: Thanks! *blushes * When is your fic gonna be updated? I've been missing it! J 

Iris Iolani: This one is longer, but I hope I didn't bore any one! *cringe *

ShinigamiForever: Thanks for you encouragement! I hope the formatting of this is better—I'm not very good at knowing where to break into another paragraph!

Blonde Ditz: This is the longest piece of fiction I've ever written, so I hope this is better, hopefully the next part can be even longer.

Dala: Thanks & I hope you enjoy this chapter. It may not be as smooth flowing as the last one.

Kasumi S: Yay! I wasn't sappy! I hope I can hold out against it! *cringes as she sees tons of sappy images in her mind threatening to get out *

AND FINALLY: To my dear roomie, Nailz, who hacked into my fanfic account (actually, I forgot to log out) and left me a flame to keep me warm at night—thanks but no thanks! Phtbbb! *winks and smiles * I got a good laugh—you made my night!


	3. Hearing

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Easy Mistakes

Author: bondagechic

Chapter 3: Sound

Part 3/5

Summary: Harry explores Draco through the five senses.

Disclaimers: Don't own anything, but am thanking JKR for letting me play…

Warning: contains hints of SLASH…and possibly more than hints in the future (hint: especially when it comes time for smell & taste *wink wink *). 

A/N: Review if ya want, I would greatly appreciate any advice, and it might even motivate me to write more quickly. Flames? Eh…I couldn't care less, and I'll probably attempt to kill you with kindness, so just try me. *evil laugh * Ahem! Um, for those who reviewed last chapter: thanks and read the notes at the end. 

Also—I really wrestled with this chapter. I wanted to capture sound using light, motion, thought, etc. Sound is always so tumultuous and hard to grasp and describe in a non-cliched way. I hope I avoided that here. Please read/review and tell me if I have succeeded or am lacking something (coherence, any one?). Thanks and Enjoy! 

Dedication: This is dedicated to the Rebellious Observer, mainly because I don't think I've ever gotten such an encouraging review(s) before. Thanks, and this one is for you.

OH!—And for those of you who really like this concept, I would strongly urge you to read ShinigamiForever's "Dracoism"—it has a few chapters along the same lines, though the POV is reversed. Excellent writing—Please go check it out! OK—on with the chapter! *finally *

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SOUND

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…desire me so deeply

drain and kick me hard

whisper secrets for me

try to go too far

inside where it's warm

wrap myself in you

outside where I'm torn

fight myself in two

in two

into…

please don't change

please don't change at all __

bring your rain

bring your rain to fall

inside where it's warm.

--"Pug", Smashing Pumpkins

Before I realize it, (I must have fallen asleep) I hear the soft sound of rustling sheets. Draco is awake. I feel like sighing—half out of contentment and half out of disappointment—but I stop myself. I do not allow my eyes to open, hoping he will be persuaded to sleep a bit longer and lay back in my arms. I know that underneath his cold veneer he actually enjoys our time alone, especially in the morning. But he seems to be set against subtle persuasion this morning and I hear a sharp intake of breath as his bare feet hit the cold smoothness of the floor. 

His feet shuffle and pad alternately on the floor. I hold back a smile, because I know one of his legs is asleep, and he is sure to be annoyed. Other than the sound of his feet, he is silent. I can remember many mornings at the beginning of our "relationship" where I would wake to find myself alone. Since then, I have trained my ears to hear the slightest movement, so that even though I may not say goodbye, I can at least recognize his departure. But today, I decide to actually watch him as he leaves in order to seal into memory what I have seen and felt through the night. 

Grunting groggily, I push myself up to a sitting position, and rub my eyes. I don't reach for my glasses because, as I watch the blurry figure moving languidly about the room, the sounds fit so much better to him this way. Draco doesn't turn to greet me, but I can tell that he heard me wake. 

" 'Morning," I rumble out softly, but loud enough to be heard.

He simply turns to me as I finally reach for my glasses, craving clarity. As my vision clears I see he is contemplating what to say—he always stays stock-still when he is thinking—it's about the only thing he hasn't been able to wrestle control over. I wonder why he can't ever just go with the simple reply, besides—cleverness is always lost on me in the mornings.

He turns away and continues searching for some article of clothing, no doubt, that has been lost amongst the disarray of Quidditch robes, dirty clothes and school books. I sigh—this time in resignation. He starts to mumble in irritation and is not as patiently digging and looking for one of his socks, as it appears that is the only article of clothing he seems to be missing. He mumbles a lot around me lately, and it has begun to worry me because along with the more frequent irritated mumbling, a familiar chill has returned to his voice. 

As I sit here, letting my eyes follow Draco around the room, I remember only one time when his voice had been so distinctly different from all the other times he had spoken and has since spoken to me. I had been out on one of my long walks alone around the grounds on a day near the end of 6th year when it was fairly hot and muggy out. The air was thick, and I looked out over the grounds from a high point near the castle—it was quiet and still—everything that was over 100 ft. away looked hazy, yet the gray-green of the trees of the Dark Forest stood out so distinctly that I felt I must have been dreaming. 

For the past couple of weeks Malfoy, as I then called him, and I had been nearly flirting—and not with the usual I-wish-that-I-could-kill-you-but-there-are-witnesses edge to our voices. No, I was puzzled because, though we both still snarled and sneered, there was something very different in our voices and our eyes—or at least, I could see the difference in Malfoy's eyes and hear it in his voice.

I must have been completely enraptured in this train of thought, for before I knew it I had wandered quite close to the lake's edge when a crack of thunder brought me back to my senses.

It had gotten quite dark from the menacingly bruise-colored clouds that had covered the sky and blocked what little sun had been shining before, and it only looked to get worse. Though I regretted having to leave my unresolved thoughts about Malfoy, reason took over and I realized I should get back to the castle, or I was liable to be struck by the actuality of the likeness that graced my forehead.

Not incensed to run, but walk quickly, I started at a good pace back to the castle. But, as my luck as-of-late would have it, the clouds soon discovered my plan and began to dump rain down in incredible amounts. Within 5 quick steps I was completely drenched. Luckily, I had foregone the robe earlier, because it was so hot, and now did not have to bother with it clinging to my legs and slowing my pace more than my Dudley-sized (that is to say elephant-sized) pants already did.

With the rain coming down in such torrents, the castle looked far away and shrouded in mystery—it looked like a dream at that moment, not to mention dry, warm, and full of light. Speaking of, a brilliant flash outlined the castle for the briefest of moments and was promptly followed by a crack of thunder so sharp that I thought I heard the Whomping Willow tremble.

I had given up on getting to the castle as quickly as I would have liked, and certainly given upon the thought of _not_ getting soaked to the skin. At any rate, I had reached the castle and was starting up the steps when an oh-too-familiar drawl reached my ears, seemingly effortlessly over the roar of the torrential rain and cracking thunder.

"Out to see if that scar of yours works as a lightning repellent, Potter?"

I really hadn't felt like seeing Malfoy right then. I was soaked: my clothes clinging to my skin, and my hair dripping water into my eyes and hanging over my glasses. So I did the only thing I could really do: I ignored him and kept climbing the steps hoping that I could put off a confrontation until some other time—perhaps one at which I was not as wet and tired.

But Malfoy was having none of it. He followed me as soon as he realized he would get no reply. Just as I reached for the door, I felt a firm hand grab my forearm and spin me around.

At that point, I couldn't recall a time when Malfoy had ever touched me. His hand was surprisingly warm, but perhaps it only seemed so because I was chilled from the rain…I looked angrily down into his eyes. He let go his grip on my arm as I noticed he was standing down one step and this made me feel at a strange advantage. I increased my glare only to have it reciprocated in the most unlikely of ways: he looked away.

I could have been floored! _Malfoy looked away!_ What was it I had seen in his eyes before I had a chance to really see it? I couldn't and can't recall, but what I do recall now is the voice. The voice that had come from _Malfoy_, of all people! It was low, though clear—there was a lack of tension and condescension that was usually present whenever he spoke to me, or any one for that matter. His voice gave no sign what so ever that he was talking to me: his born rival.

I hadn't even bothered to listen to what he was saying—the intent in his voice was solid and pleading all at once. I couldn't believe my ears, and my face was no doubt showing signs of shock, because when he finally looked up to meet my eyes, his face changed from one of intense focus of thought, to one of confusion—as if he hadn't realized he was talking out loud. 

For a few precious, precious moments we stared at each other—each exploring and examining the other's expression. He was absolutely beautiful then. His eyes reflecting light from the castle behind me, flickering gold and gray. Blonde hair shining and plastered to his head, parted in the middle by the rain and the long ends dripping silver on the high porcelain-pink cheekbones they touched. And his lips, gods—his lips, were bluish from the now-cold wind, but oh! What a cruel trick of nature that one droplet of rain would linger just above the center of his top, aristocratic lip!

He had begun to speak again, and as he did, my transfixed gaze watched as the lone droplet slid down the center of his lip as if summoned in a trance by the low, seducing vibration of Draco's words—whatever they may have been.

At some point it must have dawned on Draco that I hadn't heard a single word he'd said and he was immediately back to good old Malfoy. He rolled his shoulders back into his normal, proud posture and seized the opportunity to get a choice, defiant insult in before he brusquely pushed past me and into the warm, dry haven of Hogwarts.

I stood there, still staring at the spot he had stood—freezing and wet until—

"Harry!" A cold, hard voice snaps my attention back to the present-day Draco.

"Yeah?" I say as alertly as I can.

"Don't say 'yeah', say 'yes'," a not-so-patient tone informs me.

"Yes?" I correct myself.

"Where is my other sock? I have searched through half the rubbish in this sty and I cannot find it anywhere!" A burst of frustration. Is that anger I hear, too? Or merely condescension?

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the peeking out of white partly covered by the sheet on the bed. Reaching to grab it, I take a chance.

"It's here, but I dare say you'll have to convince me to give it back to you," teasingly.

He shakes his head once; a few strands of silver falling in front of his eyes, which had turned darker in a flash. A short derisive snort escapes him as his lips turn into a half sneer, half smile. Turning my head away from his narrowed gaze, I study nothing in particular in the near distance—at least I know I didn't make a huge mistake, but I knew this was his way of him telling me that I have no power over him. I wish he'd just say or do something not intended to hurt me.

Don't get me wrong, Draco is not all hard, cold edges and silence. There are times when hearing his voice is like pressing your hand on pavement warmed by the sun, warm but with grit—comforting in a way. And then sometimes scalding hot when he feels he's being put under a microscope. Words attack my ears like wind, shrieking painfully through windows on a stormy night, when he is in a fit of rage.

Other times, when he speaks to me in his calm states, it's like watching leaves swirl, spin and follow a passing car with the sun filtered, gold, red, brown through fall trees. I feel like those leaves—having no choice but to follow in a slow motion (emotion?) chase; helpless when faced with sound beauties.

I have to admit, most times, I don't listen to the words he speaks to me, and am glad—I'm sure they are not what I want to hear, or understand for that matter. If I just listen to the tone of his voice, I can be sure of his emotions, like the sureness of feeling the pressure of the air all around you change on your skin.

He is such a mix of sound in motion. I may start to babble, but bare with me. I am attempting to sort out the barrage of tones and shades of Draco into boxes, so I know where to look when they are no longer aimed in my direction.

His voice has matured, and now I often find myself being wrapped in ribbons of dark, rich velvet, as he directs all that is right and wrong with him, me, and life in general at me. It's much in the same way that the sun can warm your body while the rest of you shivers from the brisk wind. Or the way passing into a warm room from the cold air can make bodies shiver[1]. The feeling of being swept along in a current of contradictions.

Sometimes after he has finished speaking to me and has left, his words and the sounds that were left out before attack me, pushing me in different directions. Though I feel as though I am sitting still, I notice how my body is rocking itself gently, back and forth, back and forth, barely noticeable, but when I shift my gaze with my thoughts, my body starts to rock more violently, forward, back, forward, back until I start to feel sick and wish I could just fall away to the side.

But those are the worst days—the days when we can't agree on anything, and I've given up and he has successfully pushed me away for the time being. No—most days, his voice is as empty as a bare room, with a late fall light shadowing it—his words falling on softly smooth wood floors all around him. 

And on the best days (those days when I know I could never leave him, or let him leave me) he speaks in my ear, breath warm and low. He speaks in soft shadows of evening, blurred and soothing, the transfer in to night filled with harsh lines and cold tones.

/End Chp.3/

[1] This a quote from a poem that I wrote & will (hopefully) some day post on FF.net

NEXT CHAPTER: TASTE

A/N: TO MY REVIEWERS

idiegal: Thank you for such a good review! To answer your question as to where I am going for 4 ½ to 5 months: I am going to basic training for the Army National Guard and also advanced individual training (AIT—basically, job training). I'm kind of looking forward to it, but not really. *pout * Not having access to the internet will suck! *another pout *

earthquake: Hmmm…Thank you for the review (I _insist_ on thanking you) and that great quote. I am, at the moment, writing a research paper on HP fanfiction, and I believe fanfiction (the good stuff, that is) _does_ return "knowledge to the truths of the body" as it goes on to describe. Thanks again—and I'm curious to know if you've written any fanfiction. I went to your bio page and nothing was listed. *puzzled *

The Rebellious Observer: There is more alliteration in this piece, I thought you'd enjoy it because it's one of my favorite literary techniques as well! *grin * Thanks for your review of "mammoth proportions" as I quite enjoyed your analysis and positive reinforcement. I'm just always scared of boring people. And don't worry—the quotes around "doesn't suck big time" were actually from an email I sent out to a couple of authors I communicate with in order to tell them to check out my fic. Shall I add you to my list? Wait—like you have a choice—you're added! *big grin *

Midnight Tiger: I loved your review! I aim to please my readers—but also to get to the reality of those senses Harry is utilizing (I love that word) to get to know & figure out Draco, and also to figure out how he (Harry) feels about himself and Draco. Thanks for a shining review!

nailz (the flamer): Ha! See, I've labeled you now! *knowing look * Sorry that there is no smut thus far—but if you stick around long enough to read the next chapter after this—you will find hints of _supreme_ smut. *smug look *

Vanity Fair: Thank you so much for coming to have a look-see at my fic! Considering you are one of my fave authors, I am honored by your good review! Ahem—now, down to business: when is LUW going to be updated? No pressure or anything—but you know I can't live without your snappy one-liners! "I…was inspired." *chuckle * Thanks again—and I'm keeping my eye out for more LUW! 

Tayven: Here's hearing—how did I do? I hope I didn't disappoint. I might add more later to this—I want to try to incorporate rhythms into the writing itself. I'm thinking along the lines of ambient rhythms and techno trance beats. Do you think that would work? It will be difficult, but I hope I can. What do you think? Anywho—please come back for "Taste"! Thanks again! *big grin *

Iris Iolani: I'm glad you enjoyed it! I hope this part doesn't bore you, though. I can tend to ramble and become non-sensical with description. Let me know if it all made sense, please? Thanks! And get back to writing Until! *playful shove *

ShinigamiForever: Yes, I thought you might enjoy a glimpse of GW. Heero…*sigh * Too bad Duo has a claim on him. Anyway, back to the review you left me—thank you! I'm glad about the formatting, but I'm worried about the formatting of this chapter—paragraphs too short? Hmmmm….And also, I am flattered beyond words that you found a little bit of inspiration from the idea of the senses! It was great to read the situation reversed in "Dracoism". Thanks again for the review and encouragement! *glomp *


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